Erik 1853
by Ava Caita
Summary: Inspired by Susan Kay's 'Phantom'. The Persian shah presents Erik with the gift of a wife. She refuses him. He storms off. Nadir fears for anyone who might cross his path. This is the story of the girl who did ...
1. Part I

**A/N:** This is a 'Work-in-Progress' as of 14/3/05. Currently I've written three parts, but it will probably end with at least four. Gaston Leroux's novel 'The Phantom of the Opera' is in the public domain. Susan Kay's 'Phantom' was published originally by Delacourt Press. Please read and review!

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**Erik 1853**

'Master!'

The erratic beat of my heart and my uncharacteristically heavy footsteps echoing against the smooth stone walls had deceived me into believing I was being followed. The sound I was hearing _must_ be my own whispering thoughts. Who would dare to follow me tonight?

I had not the heart for idle magic tricks and vocal acrobatics to delight and amaze. That girl's utter revulsion of me in my room earlier had pierced me to the core of my ever-darkening heart. Would it have been that despicable to lie with me for just one night? I would have treated her like a princess; she deserved more than being called property by the shah. Alas, she was probably already dead because of her refusal.

'Master?'

The cool Persian air blew in from the darkened hallway that stretched out before me. It was the very corridor that led to the kingdom's private gardens … and my release from the torments of this night. The night who would hide me in her dark and loving embrace. She was the only woman who would ever take me in her arms willingly. The shah would pay for his 'gift'. He might even pay with his life if I could arrange it. The breeze was cold enough to abate my body's hot physical desire for that wretched odalisque. It dissipated with a little help from the burning liquor I had downed before blindly stumbling past Nadir. The combination of the two was barely enough to quell that pure and unsullied heat. There were still the flitting images running through my vivid imagination of her lying naked below me. Smiling. Reaching up to caress my face.

My face.

At last, a deep primal shiver released me from even those erotic murmurs. I felt resigned. There was nothing for me but pain when pursuing the delicate sex.

'Monsieur! Erik!'

I could no longer pretend not to hear that voice, or the faint patter of satin-lined footsteps following me. I turned bravely with my head held high. I would not show weakness in front of anyone. Detachment and indifference would suit my purpose exactly in this unexpected meeting. My abrupt turn allowed my cloak to swirl this way and that, and then wrap gracefully around my body like two long black wings.

Before me stood a heavily veiled girl wearing the garb of one of the khanum's hand-maidens. Pale blue silk clung to her lithe form, and I noticed the outline of her breasts through the transparent fabric of her top. I was glad then for that drink of arrack. She instinctively dropped to her knees and fell against the tiled marble; her forehead and the palms of her hands pressed against the floor.

'I am yours to command, O Master Magician and Right Hand of the Shah.'

The word order was correct, but her enunciation indicated 'foreigner' as she spoke. The address, however, made me smile. If only the khanum could be here to witness one of her own grovelling at my feet. I'd give back some of those emeralds I had pilfered from her bedposts. That had been quite an accomplishment to steal right under her hateful gaze. Lost in my own wicked thoughts I had forgotten the girl that lay crouched before me. I saw her in the peripheral of my vision. She lifted her head from the dusty floor to stare at me expectantly with pale-coloured eyes outlined in thick charcoal.

'Yes, Master Magician,' I said shortly, 'what is it that you want from me? Because all I want from you is to be left alone!'

She cocked her head to the right and continued to stare quizzically. 'Master?'

'Forgive me,' I looked down at her, 'what does the shah require tonight? A public humiliation of the most recent events, but with you playing my leading lady? Shall I rape you first and then toss your still beating heart into the khanum's lap?'

A film of tears blurred her vision, but only caused her eyes to sparkle more brightly in the low torchlight of the stone hallway. 'Don't assume I want anything _from _you. I only came to warn you. The khanum wants your life to be forfeit once the palace is finished. I came because …'

'Because? Speak up, child.'

'I'm not a child,' she said and her eyes glinted with surprising malice. 'When the shah had my parents killed in front of me for spreading the word of Jesus Christ to the non-believers I was already of age to be married. _He_ would not lower himself to keep an infidel in his bed, but for some reason his mother took pity on me and my life was spared. The khanum demanded that I serve her, and I have done so for three years. Nothing evoked any … fascination for me until you were brought here.'

I admired her anger. Her passion. Her tragic past.

'I was not brought here, mademoiselle, I came of my own volition.'

'As do I this night. I'm here to warn you of her plans. She wanted to send me to your apartments instead of the other concubine — they thought it more fitting to send someone of foreign blood to bed you — and they conspired to have me spy on you,' she said, sitting back on her heels and eyeing my concealed body. 'She was especially interested in your performance tonight. It is perhaps better that you turned that girl away for she would only have betrayed you. The khanum is going to personally poison you once her son's palace is finished to his liking. Make no mistake of that.'

'Why are you telling me this?' The news shocked me no more than if she had told me that a scorpion's sting held venom enough to maim a grown man. I had become too powerful at last. I knew the day would come when I would have to leave this place. Just as I had had to leave all the other places I once laid my head. Yet, there had to be plenty of time to finish my work and make plans to escape.

'I believe that God gave you certain talents and abilities for a reason. You are meant for greater things than to be the lapdog of the Persian shah.'

I grinned at the visual. 'But this lapdog has canines and a vicious bite. Are you not frightened of me?'

There was a long pause then. She absently fingered the layers of silk that had gathered along her bent knees. The only sounds were the crackle of wood being burned by the torches' flames behind her and wind rustling the leaves in the garden behind me. Then a soft swish of fabric as she stood up with her feet apart and hands clenched at her side.

'I do not fear you. I have seen your face' — she paused again to gage my reaction — 'your true face. The day the khanum demanded you remove your mask or face the life of a eunuch; I was there on the balcony. I've seen you kill men, but here I have seen many men kill others on a royal whim. No, I do not fear you. I fear her wrath and I fear what she will do to you.'

'That's very noble of you, but are you sure you are so brave?' And with that the mask came off in one fluid movement and I held it inside the folds of my cloak. It went against everything I had achieved by wearing the damned thing, but I had to test her. There was some sick fascination in it for me. 'Do you still fear her before me.'

There was no immediate revulsion. A slight palpitation of her pupils that went almost undetected, but I — who can see in the dark as well as day — caught it. All but her eyes lay hidden beneath a veil, yet she did not shrink back in horror. She did not scream as so many before her had done. Instead she held out her hand, palm up, as if she were volunteering to make physical contact with me. My own arms remained beneath my cloak.

'I do not fear you,' she repeated with confidence. 'I simply wish to warn you of your enemies. And powerful enemies have ways of making their competition disappear.'

'Excuse me,' I said roughly — ignoring her outstretched hand and replacing the mask, 'but how do I know that this isn't an exquisite little mind game devised by the khanum to break me?'

Indignation crossed her eyes, but she continued to stand erect and proud. 'She is not that intelligent. There is no thought behind her actions, as you know well already. Raw emotions govern her, and I'm sure that's how she raised her son for him to behave the way he does. I think she is quite predictable and very dangerous because of this simple flaw. She will have you killed, Erik, please believe me.'

She had used my name like we were accomplices against the entire Persian army. I wanted her to say it again. Not since Luciana, had a girl, a young woman, said my name with such simplicity. There was no deception in her voice. Or, she was a very good actress.

'Indulge the idea that I do believe you,' I continued steadily, even though my palms had started to moisten and the hairs on the back of my neck rose, 'how do you think someone in your position can help me?'

She looked down defeated. 'I don't know. As soon as it is discovered that I am missing I shall be beaten for my insubordination. Members of the harem — even lowly ones — are not allowed to wander the halls unaccompanied. And even though I am a worthless infidel, I am still bound by _her _rules.'

'But you would be willing to spy for me?'

'Yes. The hate I have for that woman only grows deeper the longer I remain trapped here.'

I knew what it was like to be enslaved by a cruel and imposing master. There were seemingly only two choices for a girl of her age with no parents or husband to look after her: serve the shah and all that that entailed, or serve the next most powerful man in Persia. In the deep recesses of my mind I knew that I would have made the same decision — before my own talents far outstripped my master and brought his jealousy and eventual death at my hand. Isn't that how it happened with Javert?

'Very well,' I started to use one of my most endearing gifts, '_you shall serve me in secret now._'

Her eyes snapped to attention, drawn to my mouth beneath the mask. 'I serve no one but myself. I will help you, but only because I have no other choice. I would not make it very far on my own once I cut her throat.'

Surprise and delight filled my mind. This child … woman … was abnormally strong willed. Had she been a boy I might have taught her a few slight of hand tricks to begin her own collection of gorgeous jewels courtesy of her benevolent mistress. But I had come to learn that girls had their own ingrained sense of morality. Marie Perrault always looked at me severely when she found I had stolen something of my mother's and hidden it. … There would be a time when she would need wealth in place of a man to survive in the world outside of Tehran. I could always reward her with a few tokens of my own for her fidelity.

'At least tell me your name, so that I can arrange some form of communication,' I was teetering on the edge of a very steep precipice.

'They call me "Nājia" in the harem, but my name was Esmée before my life was changed at the stroke of a blade.'

The cruelty of her Persian name did not escape me. 'I will honour your martyred parents and call you Esmée, if that is what you wish.'

'It is as you wish, Master,' she made to fall to her knees again.

I held out my hand to stop her. 'I wish that you continue to call me Erik. It is, after all, my given name; I'm not your master anymore than she is your mistress. You've already said as much yourself. You can break free of these chains if you so desire it.'

o . O . o

I had been summoned to the torture chamber the next morning. And there I searched in vain for those eyes of Caspian green. The khanum demanded that I pull the curtain back from the viewing window of the device my drug-induced mind had concocted. Imagining what I would find behind the double-paned glass I raised my shaking hand with apprehension. Inside I found the virgin girl, and while it was painful to see her there I was greatly relieved it was not Esmée. Her absence behind the lattice curtain among the rest of the harem had unsettled me.

Weeks passed unnoticed, as time is apt to do when I am absorbed in my work. I thought little of the conversation I had had with my new foreign spy.

The executions of innocent and guilty men at my hand continued, and my sharp addiction to opium turned days into weeks of oblivious action without recourse. I killed when commanded to do so, but I spent as much time building my secret Garden of Echoes away from the bloodshed of Ashraf and the royal demands of a childish king and his equally spoiled mother.

o . O . o

One particularly hot August day, as the court moved methodically to its summer retreat in the Shimran Hills, the shah was attacked by Babi dissidents. In the ensuing scuffle I caught sight of Esmée ducking into an abandoned quarry of limestone. Checking to make sure I was not being followed or watched I disappeared successfully in her wake.

The sunlight fell in patches on the rough rock walls, and as soon as she heard someone following her she turned wielding a small dagger in her hennaed hand. Once she saw the mask she dropped it.

Picking up the dagger and handing it to her hilt first, I said, 'You wouldn't make a very good assassin. The trick is to let the target's momentum work against them and drive your metal further into their flesh and closer to their heart. If you angle it just so you might even pierce a lung with a blade like that. Horribly painful death, but it ensures victory.'

'Morbid information, but useful,' she responded from behind a pale pink veil lined in silver braid encrusted with miniscule seashells. The dagger was sheathed and tucked somewhere behind her back. 'I'm sure whatever just happened out there will buy you some more time. I understand that not only are you to be killed but all of your workers as well. Can you imagine how many bodies will be the consequence of his reign? And he's still so young.'

Her question immediately reminded me of my own growing body count. It was true that those unfortunate souls were killed by his command, but never by his hand. Their blood covered _my_ conscience. _My_ hands. My _soul!_

'Great men are made on the edge of a sword,' I answered half-heartedly. 'I believe it was Marcus Aurelius who first said that, but even he saw the futility of it later in life.'

She pondered this statement, as she walked slowly towards the entrance of our make-shift hiding place.

'The shah has certainly taken those words to heart. He probably has them scrawled on the satin of his pillows,' she said with a wry smile.

I laughed. Then, remembering her absence, 'It is not my place to question you, but where have you been these past few weeks? I was summoned to her presence on several occasions and you were never in the vicinity.'

'That insecure … _whore_ … had me whipped for my disappearing act.' Her face flushed crimson. 'She thought I had taken a lover without her permission.'

I sighed heavily. 'It was my fault you were missing. If you had not been concerned for my well-being you would have slept safely in your bed that night.'

'I do not blame you!' she peered out into the bright void. 'I knew the consequences of my actions and I chose to do what I believed was right.'

For the first time I could see the skin between her top and the thick fabric belt holding her silken pants. It was still raw and raised in places, but these marks only drew attention away from the white scars of past tortures. My heart pounded so profoundly in commiseration. I, too, had been teased and beaten when trapped inside the metal bars of an animal's cage. A moment later, I reached out to touch her skin.

Esmée flinched beneath my touch. 'It's not healed. It's so raw in places.'

'She will pay for this,' I said through clenched teeth.

She turned, smiled at me, 'And now you have become my Angel of Mercy,' and with that she disappeared into the blinding light of day.


	2. Part II

**A/N:** WARNING: This chapter has drug use in it! Gaston Leroux's novel 'The Phantom of the Opera' is in the public domain. Susan Kay's 'Phantom' was published originally by Delacourt Press. Thank you for all the lovely comments (I didn't think anyone would even know I was here)! Please read and review!

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**Erik 1853: Part II**

The next time I saw Esmée it was to celebrate the horrific death — completely overseen and executed by my hellbound imagination — of Suleiman Khan and his Babi brethren. The shah gave a banquet, which lasted a week, and demanded that his favourite subjects attend in style. I waited until the third night to make my presence felt.

Cushions of rich velvet and extravagant carpets covered every inch of the inner rooms. Thick ropes of smoke issued from the bronze censers, and the room was filled with the heavy, almost dizzying, fragrance of myrrh. Tables overflowing with fruit, meat, and brazen pitchers of wine were set back against the walls. The shah made sure that no one went away believing he wasn't the richest, most powerful man in the world.

The khanum and her ladies wore scant arrays of white gossamer bound with gold cord that left little to the male imagination. Formality, and their all-concealing headdresses, had been left by the wayside as the women's hair fell mellifluously down their backs adorned with chrysanthemums of every hue. Cultural mores demanded that they show off their bodies, but their faces were still shielded by thin-laced veils. Customs here made little sense to me when compared to the propriety of my own stiff upbringing. However, I did find a bitter irony that my face also remained hidden from the eyes of men.

Most of the women had the same straight obsidian hair and starless oval eyes. The variation of aurulent-coloured skin was indiscernible from one gracefully limbed courtesan to that of the girl standing next to her. The only differing saturation was Esmée's translucent skin. Never before had I seen so much of her; it caused a pleasant tingle that began near my chin and ran down my chest and arms. The most surprising of her newly revealed attributes were the long curls of vibrant vermeil that fell in waves down her back. They too were embellished with beautiful flowers in pinks and pale yellows which complimented the subtle tincture from one strand of hair to the next.

Groups of women were interspersed around the room dancing. Touching. Laughing. It caused a burning sensation behind my eyes, or was that the smoke?

Hastily I made my appearance at the high court's table. Not so much out of respect, but I knew that once done I was free to consort with whomever I pleased. Nadir left my side immediately; he feared it would seem suspicious to continue our usual banter in a public place. The moment I had escaped his — and more importantly the shah's — shadow I let my voice quietly dance on one of the flowers nearest to Esmée's ear.

'You have shown your petals in full for this blithe masquerade of death.'

Her hand brushed absently at the flower in her hair while her eyes scanned the crowd for the true source of those words. She squinted in vain, and self-consciously wrapping her arms around her torso she stared intensely at a neglected blossom on the floor.

'I meant no offence to you,' I whispered from another flower nearer to her shoulder, 'merely to point out the farce of this _celebration_. … And the fact that you have intrinsically radiant petals.'

She closed her eyes. From my vantage point I could not ascertain if she smiled or grimaced. I felt suddenly hollow … insignificant … desolate. Could I explain what her raiment did to my pulse without the fear of mockery?

Speaking again nearer to her ear, 'Are you able to slip away to the gardens? If you can do it without being caught, pick up the chrysanthemum at your feet. If you fear the consequences, walk away.'

A sudden excitement animated her hand as she easily bent down to gather up the lost floret.

'I will leave now,' the retrieved bloom spoke in sotto voce. 'Circulate the room once and then make your own discreet exit.'

Holding the flower near her face she whimsically sauntered past the khanum. It was a dangerous move, but the lady — if she could be referred to as such — neither looked in Esmée's direction, nor did she seem to care what the girl did on this joyous night. The last image I had before slipping off the balcony into the lush greenery was a group of barefooted girls, bound by satiny fetters, writhing together in time to the music of a _setar_.

The garden held the strong fragrance of jasmine, lilacs, and lemon. The fruit trees hung heavily burdened, and I felt no remorse in plucking two small apples from a nearby branch. It was easier to trust the unblemished food of nature than anything handed to me by one of the shah's slaves. With the first bite, always the sweetest, I allowed a moment of indulgence as the juices drizzled down my parched throat. Lost in another world of flavour and music I forgot how solitary I had become in life. Not even the gentle touch of a woman's hand against my shoulder could move me into reality.

'Captain Ahab,' Esmée pulled at my cloak, 'have you found your great white whale at last?'

The present swam clearly into focus as I looked down at her. Her eyebrows were knitted in concern, but her gaze was soft.

'You can read English?' I asked waking from my stupor.

She shrugged. 'We travelled far and wide to spread the Good News. Though I found Melville's book in the shah's private chambers. He told me it was rare to find a newly published English book so close to the Orient. But he demands his library be eclectic, updated, and vast. There are books in every language imaginable — though it is hard to believe he understands more than a handful of them. The last few months he demanded I translate various passages. My knowledge of the English language is halting, and I do not quite understand all of the words, but I have enjoyed what I do grasp of the story.'

'The man spent his entire life in search of an elusive whale,' I barked. 'He wasted his life raging against the sea and that great beast.'

'He raged against the Almighty,' she breathed quietly, 'and in the end he lost.'

'I will try to remember that, should I ever turn against the heavens,' I replied.

A noise in the bushes alarmed us. She concealed herself behind a great malachite marble base displaying an ancient statue of Anahita. I found safety behind the lesser statue of Dev. Briefly, I wondered if the shah would ever be held accountable for such religious blasphemy in his gardens. The ancient Persian gods were no longer upheld by the people. The presence of such statues, recherché and grand, were grounds for lesser men's lives to be sacrificed to justify the new beliefs.

Esmée cooed and re-emerged holding the sleek body of a cat. Not the shah's chosen pet, but one of the more favoured animals in the house. A flicker of movement, a startled cry, and she dropped the animal from her embrace. Her fingertips gingerly brushed her cheek and then she squinted at them. The simple lace veil lay torn at her feet, and I looked at her face for the first time. Her features were small in comparison to her wide eyes. A spattering of faint freckles covered her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

I walked towards her quickly, as she brushed a few tears from her eyes only to smile widely in my direction. 'That was not very bright of me. I forgot he doesn't like to be held.'

Without actually touching her I traced the outline of her face with the heat of my palm. The scratches were bleeding, but not enough to require more than a thorough washing.

'Does it look that bad?' she asked nervously. Her own hand poised half-way to her face.

I managed to stutter, 'What?'

'My cheek? Does it look bad?' she repeated. 'You have a very concerned look in your eyes.'

'It looks like that cat needs to have his claws trimmed, but I assure you you will live.'

Her fingers encircled my wrist. The touch surprised me in its unwavering strength. Stepping closer to my body she put her other hand on my shoulder. I did not move. I feared I would awaken alone in the dark reaching out for air. Beads of sweat had already started to form at my brow, and then I blinked as a droplet slid down my forehead, past my eye, and down my cheek. I hoped it was only sweat and not tears.

'Have you never danced before?'

My hand slipped down into hers and I nearly choked on my answer, 'No.'

'But you move so gracefully. It's as if you have a melody playing just behind your irises. If you teach me that internal rhythm, I will show you how to dance.'

I could only nod. Words were faltering, and the rhythm she spoke of was lost in the blood that pounded through my temples. She stood before me — moonlight bathed her luminous skin and blended back into the deep cerulean shadows of the night — unafraid.

We rocked together. Tentatively at first. Finding the rhythm through my panic was difficult, but once I had grasped it she pulled me closer to her.

'Now,' she looked only at my eyes, 'step forward with your left foot first and I'll step back. … Good. Pivot slightly as you step back with your right foot and mine will follow. … Excellent. We can dance using this simple two-step tonight. Perhaps, if you are a fast learner, I will teach you a waltz.'

She laid her head against my chest. I rested my chin against her temple. How I willed my feet to continue moving correctly I shall never know. Nervous tremors wracked my limbs, but Esmée said nothing. Convinced I was going to die or fall out of bed, I decided to simply enjoy the warmth of her body against mine.

'Erik?' I felt her squeeze my hand lightly.

'Yes?'

'Sing for me,' she said in French. Her fingers ran along the collar of my shirt. 'Sing something in our language. I tire of listening to nothing but Persian in this God-forsaken place.'

My mind went blank. There were so many songs appropriate to this moment, but I remembered none of them. Instead, I hummed an original melody soft and sweet. If there was room between us before it disappeared as soon as I began the chorus. She melted against me, and I held her upright with my arm around her waist.

Sounds of night creatures accompanied me, and we continued to dance in the garden of the shah without fear of discovery.

o . O . o

Later we hurried back to my apartments without being seen by even the smallest of creatures. The hour neared that of dawn being heralded again, but the bawdy noise of the feast carried on throughout the passageways. Free food and entertainment have a way of keeping spirits high over an extended period of time.

The rosy hue of aurora spilled in through the many windows that decorated my western facing wall. Orange coloured light brightly fell on everything in her attempt to waken a weary world. It had the same soothing effect on my conscience. Alone I stood in the doorway watching as Esmée walked to the chaise and touched the heavy brocade.

'There is no doubt you are paid well for your services.' She looked out the opened window into the gardens below, 'and you have an _interesting_ view.'

Stepping into the room to follow her gaze I noticed for the first time that from where she stood a person could see, if they crouched down a bit and to the left, directly into the bathing house of the harem. 'I assure you I did not even know of this before.'

'Your lodgings have been well-chosen by the woman of this house … no doubts there,' she looked back at me. 'And to think you have been here over a year and never sought out the beauty that surrounded you.'

I checked at that. 'I always indulge in the remarkable, mademoiselle, but perhaps this time it was not a beauty I wished to acknowledge.'

'Even you cannot deny the looks and figure of our mistress,' she shot back coyly with her hands on her hips.

I sighed, and then realised my response had confirmed her own belief. 'It's not that she is _not_ pleasing to the eye. Sometimes, when alone, I devise ways to take rapture in her body before destroying her mind. It's a little game I play that keeps me sane when she beckons me to stand before her bed.'

Esmée pushed back from the windowsill and slid on to one of the many piles of cushions in the room. With her chin on her arms she rested against an ottoman. Dark smudges sat under her eyes, and I knew not if they were the result of the heavy charcoal she used to accentuate her gaze or nights without sleep. The poor girl did look exhausted when she followed my steps with her eyes.

I felt a pull at the bottom of my waking thoughts. Addiction has a way of making its presence felt at the most inopportune moments. 'Esmée?' She answered with little more than the rustle of her sleeves. 'I'm in need of … a beauty of sorts … do you mind?' I said over my shoulder as I took out the pipe and leather pouch from its hiding place beneath a cracked piece of tile.

Her back became straight and she stared at the accoutrements in my hands.

'Opium?' there was a longing in her eyes I had never witnessed before in anyone. Then again, I had never studied my face in a mirror during my own time of need. It may have put me off drugs for good, but I felt a kind of connection with her then.

I packed the bowl with a sprinkling of poppy, replaced the wire grate, and holding the stem to my mouth I sparked a match. The coals burned red. Seeds began to bubble. Sweet smoke and blessed release burned their way into my craving lungs. The drug rushed through my bloodstream and straight to my mind. Barely two drags had passed my lips when she stretched out an eager hand, covered in the fading brown paint of henna, for the smoking reed. The symbols which encircled each delicate finger, wrapped around her palm, and flowed up her elbow were ancient. They danced for a moment in the light and then lay still.

She inhaled deeply like one accustomed to the almost instantaneous effects of the burning flower. 'Thank Allah for this,' she winked at me and inhaled again. … Once more her lips pulled against the wood. Her eyes began to cloud over in a recognisable way. Sinking down into the silk and lace she passed the pipe back to me.

I had just begun to tumble down beside her when the door of my rooms was flung back on its hinges, smashing into the interior wall. Within the open frame stood a large man with burnt skin and black eyes, which took in his surroundings without blinking.

'Slave!' he shouted once finding Esmée's blazing curls among the darker greens and blues of the pillows. 'You shall be punished severely for this!'

I rose immediately. The wooden pipe fell from my hand and broke against the marble floor.

'Our lady will find it especially rewarding to punish you as well,' his smile was hateful … yet delighted by this turn of events. Maybe he would be rewarded in a way only a castrated man could enjoy. 'A despoiled virgin carries a heavy weight.'

Esmée flew from the room like a young gazelle from a lion in the grass. She did not even pause in the entrance to look back at me. I believed I could protect her against anything. The shah. The Arab world. Even her nightmares. But she was gone.

The Punjab lasso lay coiled under my cloak, but my arms lay against my sides heavy with poppy induced weight. 'I could kill you for intruding on my rooms,' I slurred unconvincingly, for the man did not even flinch at the sound of my voice.

'Your consort is a known liar,' he warned, 'who's more dangerous than _you_ when left to her own devious designs.'

My eyelids were heavy, but I managed to speak again. 'What do you mean by that moniker?'

'Shall I start with her most common lie of all … .' And he proceeded to tell me a strange and disturbing tale. The pieces fit so tightly together as to make me laugh in Esmée's faultless face; and I would have done just that if it all did not ring so heart-breakingly true. '… she was a wilful girl when first brought to our midst, and she's wilful now. Don't tell me you've trusted anything she says? Ask your personal _Daroga_ what he's heard of her, if you don't believe me.'

The effect of his words and the drug had taken my will to stand upright. I slumped down into the cushions and lost consciousness. Or rather, I could not trust anything I saw or heard after that moment. The opium had taken me body and mind into its loving embrace.


	3. Part III

**A/N: **This chapter took a lot longer than expected to get right, so I apologise for any lingering errors. Gaston Leroux's novel 'The Phantom of the Opera' is in the public domain. Susan Kay's 'Phantom' was published originally by Delacourt Press. Omar Khayyam is a well-known ancient Persian poet. You can find his 'Rubai'yat' in most bookstores. Please read & review!

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**Erik 1853: Part III**

Early the next evening, Nadir paid me a visit. He had been enjoying all the feasting, dancing, and feminine delights the palace could offer. The fulfilment of his sexual appetite intoxicated his every gesture. He looked like a man finally at peace with his surroundings. A man who would spill secrets with the right prompts.

'_Daroga_,' I began auspiciously, 'the court's good fortune seems to suit you well.'

He smiled and sat down; his eyelids half-closed, 'It's delightful the things virgin girls are trained to do while still retaining that title. Simply thrilling.'

This conversation could easily be turned.

'And what do you know of the harem girls?' I smiled back.

He sighed and moved closer to the hookah that stood on a dark oak stool before him. Raising his eyebrows he reached out his hand, and I gave a formal nod of hospitality. Breathing smoke deeply into his lungs he spoke in bursts, 'Many things. Wonderful things. Does it bother you?'

'Why should it bother me to see you happy again?'

He gave a half nod and sucked thoughtfully on the long tube, but said nothing in response. I frowned. It would, perchance, be harder to gather information from him than I thought. Seemingly satiated, but patient to indulge my questions, he continued to smoke.

So I pressed a bit with my voice, 'How much credence do you give the information you receive from the eunuchs?'

'It depends on the money that exchanges hands, Erik,' a surprised look passed his face. 'You're not still haunted by that slave girl, are you? She died months ago. There wasn't anything you could've done ….'

_Except taken her_, said his eyes.

'No,' I replied a bit sharply, 'I have just heard rumours of a woman who hails from the country of my birth. That's all. I wondered if they were true.'

'Esmée,' not even a whisper, but I knew at once he withheld secrets. More clearly he answered, 'Yes, I've heard of such a girl. She's been the khanum's favourite servant since she was brought here ten years ago, I believe. In fact, there are stories that say the girl you speak of is very dangerous. Never accept anything she offers you, Erik. She can't be trusted.'

Turning my back on him, I spoke to the emptiness before me. It seemed to suffocate every word, 'That's exactly what I've heard. Thank you, _Daroga_.'

'Be careful with what you know,' he returned the tube to the hookah. The conversation turned to other things, and then he disappeared down the softly lit hallway.

Alone with my thoughts I paced the floor in front of my windows. Before I had a chance to tread a path into the very stone, a small grey pigeon smashed into the closed glass door. Immediately I opened the panel and stepped out on to the large balcony. The bird lay fluttering against the wall. Her wing was fractured; I gently lifted her into my hand and inspected her, but it seemed that was all she had broken. A heavily bound piece of parchment fell from her leg. Curiosity stepped in the way of practicality. I held her struggling form against my body — probably doing more damage to her delicate bones — picked up the parchment and stuffed it into my cloak.

It took almost two hours to set her wing properly. She had broken it close to her shoulder, and every time she was placed in a cage the movement would jar her wing free again. Instead of putting her through another ordeal I simply held her under a small cloth against my collarbone until she fell asleep. Once assured she would not easily wake I placed her gently into the cage. Enervated, I fell back under my sheets and forgot all about the tiny scrap of paper until morning.

Written in a scrawling hand was my name followed by a beguiling message in French:

_Two lovers are barred from every joy and bliss, _

_Who through the live-long night embracing lie:_

_They guard the folk from calamities,_

_But with the rising sun apart they fly._

I knew it to be a riddle but had forgotten the answer. I spent the day in the shah's palace, and as I worked my body to the point of numbing exhaustion my mind raced. The natural light had long since left the heavens. Torches had been brought to aid my inhuman quest. Dehydration and fatigue threatened to send me into oblivion. A frightened man came to me with a bucket of water. His hand trembled as he offered me the ladle. Rudely, I snatched the bucket from him and drank deeply. The cold water spilled down my chin and along my naked torso. It drenched my trousers before I stopped … gasping for air.

'Master,' he bowed and took the bucket from me and pivoted on his heels for a polite escape.

'Wait,' — I clenched my side in pain. Too much water too soon —, 'are you a clever man?'

It was inappropriate, but I hoped he would answer none-the-less. Without turning to look at me he said, 'No, master. I'm just here to serve you.'

'Enough!' I shouted. Weariness spread down through my toes, and I gathered my shirt and cloak. 'Enough. I heard a riddle today, and thought you might have a guess.'

He waited for me to catch up, 'My daughter enjoys riddles, master. Maybe I've heard this one?'

Slowly, having already committed it to memory, I recited it for him.

'Yes, I've heard that one,' his eyes lit up with the power of knowledge. 'The answer is: the leaves of a door, I believe. Is that right?'

I blinked, working out the answer with the clues, and answered, 'Of course it is. Very good. Now, off you get to your daughter. I'm finished here for tonight.'

Once home I searched the door of my apartment. There was nothing in the leaves. I ran my hand along the top and bottom to be certain. But, rolled around the bottom hinge I found another parchment. Scrawled on it was a familiar poem by Omar Khayyam. It read:

_There was a Queen of Egypt like the Bride_

_Of Night, Full-moon-faced and Canopus-eyed,_

_Whom one among the meanest of her Crowd _

_Loved — and she knew it (for he loved aloud),_

_And sent for him, and said 'Thou lov'st the Queen: _

_Now therefore Thou hast this to choose between: _

_Fly for thy Life: or for this one night Wed _

_Thy Queen, and with the Sunrise lose they Head.' _

_He paused — he turn'd to fly — she struck him dead. _

'_For had he truly loved his Queen,' said She, _

'_He would at once have giv'n his Life for me, _

_And Life and Wife had carried: but he lied; _

_And loving only Life, has justly died.'_

Followed by Esmée's name. If these lines were meant to be a riddle, I was lost. If they were meant to be a cryptic warning, I was still fumbling in the dark. And if it was a trap, then I was doomed to die in Persia.

Again I found solace in the confines of my bed. I slept on through the next morning and late into the afternoon. When I awoke it was to the sharp knock against my door.

o . O . o

I had been summoned to a private audience with the khanum. A feeling of dread pushed visions of Esmée enchained behind a wall of hot glass past my nebulous eyes. I rubbed them vigorously and then remembered what the eunuch had told me almost a week ago in the moments before I had passed out.

She was an apostate! Her lies clung to me like opium residue. But what about the fascinating notes? The scars on her back?

The possibility of her duplicity burned in the back of my throat like some black bile ready to be spat upon the floor. Or into her false face — that perfect oval which held such power over me even after I knew the truth. Electricity trembled through my arms and pooled in my wrists. Sparks continued to wound my psyche as I walked the long road to the harem's secluded sanctuary.

I still — stupidly — believed her, and maybe that was why a tiny voice in the back of my thoughts continued to urge me to reconsider. _Trust her and you have a chance at love. Real love,_ it said. _Deny her and you are left alone … again._ Better to be alone than dead. I had made my decision before the guards opened the wooden doors on the entrance to hell.

Singing and the delicate timbre of tiny bells greeted me. A façade for the real danger that lay within these hearkening walls. Women of all shapes cooed at each other, but the moment they glimpsed the white of my mask they fled whimpering. It would have been roguish to chase after them, corner them, and push myself against their perfumed skin. Perhaps so, but their fleeting steps vilified my very existence. I had never hurt a woman; besides the khanum and her pet, Esmée, I had vowed never to harm one in any way.

The sultan's mother lay against a cushioned divan. Ropes of pearls and a diaphanous fabric cleaved to her form, but I could see every curve of her body … every pore of her perfect skin … through the material. The sight made me shudder with lust. Biting the inside of my cheek I nodded in her direction.

'So the great magician comes to entertain me at last,' her voice was sultry; yet at the same time revolting, for I knew her heart.

I gathered my cloak tightly about me, 'You know as well as I do, madame, that I was summoned here with no explanation. I've prepared nothing by which to entertain you.'

The cadence of her laughter caused her breasts to seem to shimmer beneath the substance of her gown. I forced myself to look only into her eyes. 'Why, Erik, I'm almost ashamed to have put so much faith in your genius. Fear not, I'll supply the entertainment with your … assistance.'

Something in the way she paused set me on edge. Mentally flipping through my escape routes, the number of men in my way, and the weapons on hand, I dipped a small bow. She clapped in response, and two large eunuchs appeared behind her carrying musical instruments. I would have to sing for her. Nothing more terrible than that, or so I believed.

The khanum clapped again. A rush of bare-feet followed, and then the doors opened and in streamed twenty of the harem girls. I caught sight of Esmée. The verdigris of her eyes was unreadable. Trusting my head I summoned the words of warning both the eunuch and Nadir had spoken. My heart had no place here in this viper's lair.

'Now,' said the woman stretched upon the cushions, 'you shall choose a partner!'

Horror flooded my thoughts. I would not disgrace myself, or any of these girls, for the sake of entertaining her. My fingers already clenched the Punjab lasso. All I needed was a clear opportunity to strike hard and fast.

'If you can't chose for yourself,' her voice found that hardened edge, 'then I will choose for you.'

She dramatically glanced behind her — it was all for show — and then spied Esmée kneeling beside another courtesan. A broad smile spread across her face, and her eyes grew darker.

'Nājia,' she bubbled in mock surprise, 'I choose you. Go, take your place at his side.'

The girl jumped to her feet and made a practised little curtsy. It had been almost a week since I had last seen her, but she looked different. Her lilac coloured outfit covered none of her almost emaciated torso and the bones of her ribs stuck out above her painted navel. I could not help but reach out my own hand to meet hers. For all her seeming delicacy her grip remained steady. The bones of her wrist were sharp and delicate much like my own, but she was not built to survive half-starved. There were still traces of a very supple figure which with the proper nourishment held the power to entice any man — especially this man.

The khanum slapped her hip in feigned delight, 'Ah, I've found you a willing partner. Good. Now, you _will_ dance for my approval.'

At once chords were plucked on the lyres, and they were not the light quick pace of the music from the fête. They were melancholy and slow. I stared down at Esmée, but her face was almost entirely covered by a convenient lace veil. Her eyes only reflected my masked face, but her body stepped closer to mine and we began to move.

'What do you mean by this game?' I hissed in her ear.

She shrugged and looked at my face, such as it was, 'I had no prior knowledge of this, if that is what you are accusing. I only knew she was planning something this afternoon to amuse herself.'

'Then you do not deny it is a game,' I felt the walls I had built up around my heart crumble. What good were walls when someone like her could sneak in through the cracks? 'And the notes? What were they supposed to mean?'

'Notes, so you figured out the first one,' her grip on my shoulder tightened and her voice dropped. 'The second one was a warning. This is the moment to be most careful in the Queen's presence. She will strike you dead if you do not please her. Dance like there's nobody watching us, and it will be over sooner than you think.'

'Esmée,' I forced myself to give words to my warring thoughts, 'I heard a strange tale about you the other day.'

She seemed to bite her lip under her veil, but I could not be sure. 'From one of her spies, no less.'

'And from Nadir,' I answered grimly.

Her answer seemed smug. 'Who receives his information from my keepers. You don't believe them, do you? I have heard that the khanum watches from behind closed doors as I bed her enemies and poison them in the same night. That I actually enjoy the beatings I receive, as if it is some kind of reward. Is that what you are referring to? You hear echoes and see shadows of what you have been cleverly fed, therefore, anything I say now must be a lie.'

'What about your parents, Esmée? How long have you served this court?'

She stiffened under my questioning countenance. 'I told you. They died four years ago. I've been here since then. There is nothing else to explain.'

'Do you spy for me,' I raised my voice so all could hear, 'or her?'

Esmée looked out of the corner of her eye. Apparently, she waited to catch the khanum's slight nod of encouragement before giving an answer. 'I am your partner as she commands.'

My heart fell into my stomach, 'Did she command you the other night?'

'As she has done every night of my life. …'

Glancing over her head I saw the khanum's forehead wrinkle with unmasked amusement and, it seemed, a tinge of jealousy. Esmée must have orchestrated the entire prequel to this repulsive dance with her mistress's keen eye for the tasteless in mind. It was she who grabbed my hand under the star-filled sky. It was she who sought me out to be my spy so many nights ago. There was no other explanation for this torture. This utter mind fuck.

I dropped Esmée's hand and forcefully pushed her to the floor.

'You're as false as she is,' I spat. Her eyes filled with tears. 'Oh yes, cry! You are such a believable actress, after all. Show me how you've been trained to lure men to their deaths with just your pleading eyes.'

She shook her head in disbelief and mumbled, 'I-I never played you falsely, Erik. Never.'

'Then explain to me, dear Esmée, how it is that you came to this place? Tell me the truth because _your_ version of events rings of lies.'

'I told you already,' she said through clenched teeth. 'Why would I tell you again?'

'Maybe you'd like to tell me why they're still alive then?'

She gasped and wildly looked around her for help. Then she put forth heavy sobs accompanied by the slow dirge of Persian music. I turned from her sodden face and began to walk away.

'BECAUSE THEY SOLD ME!' she screamed. 'Is that what you want to hear? That my parents never wanted me and sold me to the highest bidder as soon as we crossed into Persia? That after I was sold my mistress beat me for trying to escape?'

'You tread on dangerous ground, _Nājia_,' the khanum sat up. The folds of her shift slid off her shoulders. 'I have treated you like a daughter, and you will respect me.'

She fell to her knees. 'Oh Great and Honourable Mother, please forgive me. I live only to serve your family.'

'For once,' I shouted towards her, 'I believe _that_ is not a lie!'

'Erik, please!' her voice sounded through my heart.

I rounded on her. She lay sobbing, still crumpled against the floor. I had to force myself not to gather her into my arms and carry her away with me. Removing a scrap of parchment and tearing it to shreds, I threw them at her face. 'Here! Take back your notes. Your sweet opium addiction. Remove your shivering heart from your sleeve. And please don't forget to wipe the moonlight from your eyes!'

And then I was gone. I have no knowledge of what happened once those doors closed the khanum's laughter from my ears. I would never ask what became of her after that night. Now, I would live for my work. Nothing could bring me to look into those deep and vivacious pools of emerald fire again.


	4. Interlude I

**A/N: **I have the flu, and I am sad. But seriously, this represents an interlude from the main story (in regards to POV) and I **hope** you like it. Much love to Monsieur Leroux and Madame Kay. This story is still a 'work-in-progress'. Please read & review!

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**Erik 1853: Interlude I**

I continued to laugh long after Erik had stormed from my presence chamber. So, my little silk worm had finally completed her metamorphosis into someone else's butterfly. But, Nājia had always served me in the past without question or hesitation. If it was a delicate matter with a head of state, I chose her — but I jest, she was only ever sent to delicately kill those heads of state who displeased my son or I; most importantly I chose her because she was the only girl who showed any kind of promise, even if she _had _needed countless beatings to become my perfect little accomplice.

The fact remained that she was mine to command completely, or at least she had been until that dark magician was summoned to court for my amusement. Mine. And I don't know what illusions he showed her, or what lies he deceived her with, but my beautiful nightshade had turned against me. I could feel it.

I refused to stand by idly and wait for her to turn traitor.

There were a multitude of options at my disposal. Erik could be made to kill her, but that reeked of imitation. Nadir could keep watch over her, but he had grown too fond of Erik. No, this matter demanded tact — something my merciless Angel of Doom accused my actions of lacking in past transgressions. I would prove to him that I could still learn … .

This time I would choose my weapons and my strategy with the utmost care. Nājia would be shadowed during the day by a trusted eunuch. One who could not be bought from my services for any price, and there was such a man bound to me by blood. A female member of the harem would track her movements at night. None of the girls readily sprang to mind as either trustworthy or incredibly intelligent. I might as well follow her myself; test my own stealth.

I plotted. I schemed. And I waited for the right opportunity to set things in motion. Fortunately, for me, I didn't have to wait long before my son brought me the most promising news of Erik's imminent demise. The time to turn words into action had arrived.

'Nājia, child,' I beckoned for her to sit at my side like an equal, 'it's been far too long since we sat together and gossiped.'

Her eyes sparkled, and I guess she smiled, as she sat at my feet. Her obeisance seemed genuine, but I knew better than to fall for courtly gestures. She had been taught how to lie — especially to those in power. Those like me. Hell, _I_ had been the one to beat her until she did it right. There had been moments long ago when she would fight me with such vehemence that it made my black heart swell to strike her. Again and again. I enjoy torture. I enjoy death. And I certainly enjoyed moulding her into my grand design.

Carefully outlined eyes revealed nothing, while her face stayed hidden beneath a traditional veil. Yes, she should be commended for the convincing air she had about her person. I should be commended for creating her.

'Great Mother Who Stands Before Earth and the Shah,' she pressed her forehead against my sandal, 'I am yours to command.'

'There is no official business to attend to, little one,' I cautioned with a wave of my hand. 'I only wish for you to sit at my side and talk to me like we've done so many times before. Please, remove your clever mask so we can speak face-to-face.'

She looked at me, and for a moment I could see her working out some war of emotions inside her skull before she dropped the lace. Such a pretty head she had — soon it would join the other traitors on the gates to the palace. Unless she proved my suspicions false, and I had a small amount of hope in that regard, then she would be made an empress among her sisters. I would see to it at once.

'What would you like to talk about, _mâhter_?' Nājia eyed me warily, which denoted distrust. It was noticeable, but still an intelligent move. Proving only that I couldn't underestimate the woman before me.

'I wish to know what you really think of my delightful demon?'

'Cervantes once wrote, "where there's music, there can be no evil", and I think that holds true in his case. Why do you ask, my lady? He has already denied me in front of you and everyone else.'

'Such a pity, too. You were to be hand-picked to bring him to a most painful and disastrous end.'

She blanched, 'I-I was? But you said I was only to gain his trust and plant a few of your gems on his person. You never told me I had to … to … hurt him.'

'The rumours are true!' I watched her carefully, 'You've fallen in love with a murderer and a thief.'

'Your Imperial Highness,' she quickly dipped low to avoid eye contact, 'I do not love him. I simply respect his genius. Once you get past the hideousness of his face … he is just the same as any other man.'

Her true allegiance had shown itself at last. I could have let her suffer a little longer while I stared at her, but I wanted to be immediately satisfied in her horror of my good news. I am a creature of habit after all.

I took her hands and giggled like a young courtesan, 'In a fortnight, my son is to have Erik's head on a pike.' Letting the last word hang in the air, I gauged her reaction. It showed neither sadness nor glee. Neither regret nor surprise. Disappointment fell about my shoulders. 'Don't worry, my pet, Nadir will handle everything. I no longer require your services in the matter.'

'I do not mean to speak out of turn,' she might betray herself further, 'but Erik has done everything the shah's asked of him, has he not?'

Anger clouded my vision before I was able to compose myself. I pushed forward, 'He does only the bare minimum to keep my … dark habits … at bay. I might also remind you that he was brought here to please me! Not, my son! It's only fitting that a man of such varying talents should be expected to fulfil his duties to both his mistress and his master. Lately, we each have found him wanting.'

'He is yours to command,' she continued quickly. 'Why do you not confront him with his duties in your service _before_ killing him?'

She made a convincing diplomat. Still, I could not read her true intentions. Was she trying to save him, or herself? It mattered little now, as I fully intended to follow every step, every conversation, and every breath she made for the next two weeks. The endless possibilities for torture made me laugh again.

'The shah's word is law,' I reminded her, 'and it shall be done to the letter.'

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a movement near my footstool. It seemed a little arachnid had found its way into my room. My actions were swift and precise. In seconds I had skewered the scorpion's body on a gilded ceremonial dagger. I tossed it to Nājia and delighted at their squirms.

'Go now, I tire so quickly of your gaze. I wish to rest.'

'Your name be exalted.' She made a pretty little dip and left with her back to the door.

Let the games begin!


	5. Interlude II

**A/N: **I apologise to anyone who's still reading this for the lapse between updates. I promise I'm still involved in finishing this project. You might want to read _Interlude I_ before this one. Kisses to Leroux and Kay. This story is a 'work-in-progress', and I really hope you enjoy it! Please read & review!

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**Erik 1853: Interlude II**

And what an exciting game of cat and mouse that raged within the walls of my palatial estate after that meeting. In the mornings she easily lost her male shadow. Reports from him were vague and infuriating. My brother — yes, I had made him a eunuch as soon as I knew I carried the heir to the throne of all Persia — could not be bothered to chase after a white-skinned girl. I threatened him with his life.

'Sister,' he spat back at me, 'you have already denied me my manhood and a future incarnation through heirs. Taking my life now would be a blessing, not a curse.'

'Ghassān, I could see to it that your death took weeks,' it was a promise I knew I could keep. 'Keep better watch of my playthings.'

'Keep watch of them yourself,' he turned his back and slammed the door in the antechamber with such force that a vase of chrysanthemums shattered against the tile floor.

I screamed and beat my fists against my thighs. _Blood be damned; I will have his head!_ First, I have to contend with my slippery eel, Nājia. Just then, as if by sorcery, a knock sounded against the door. Hardly dressed for mixed company, but caring even less, I sauntered to the heavy oak and trusted to the one advantage I had over my guest — deadly feminine wiles. On the other side stood Nadir Khan. Curious that he should come to me when I needed a male with skills outside of a woman's bed.

'Your Most Exalted Name Be Praised,' he prostrated himself in controlled reverence. Seeing him gravel always did bring a kind of joy to my heart. I let him lay against the floor as the seconds flitted by like torturous minutes. His obeisance must have given him some discomfort, for when I finally acknowledged his presence he rose flushed and sweating.

But such joys are fleeting in the face of genuine need. 'Nadir, how good it is to see you. To what great honour do I owe this visit?'

He threw me a questioning glance. 'My Lady of Light and Mercy,' inwardly I was giggling at his forced flattery, 'you summoned me to report to you once the palace neared completion. It is almost finished.'

'Delightful news,' I clapped my hands. 'I have another matter of state security for you to oversee, _daroga_.'

'My service is yours to command,' he said, but his eyes told me differently. A great deal of fear sat on his brow. His discomfort permeated the air between us and tasted like a delicious bite of summer's first melon. I savoured the flavour as I ran my tongue — hoping to tear it and finally taste blood — over the sharp point of my incisor.

It would serve me well to have him _en guard_, so I did nothing to assuage his growing concern.

'Do you know of Nājia,' he quickly nodded in recognition of the name. 'I wish for you to follow her during the daylight hours. Report every movement outside of my jurisdiction, every person she speaks to, and most importantly, any type of gifts given freely to, or from, her person.'

Nadir raised an eyebrow and regarded me with quiet civility. 'My Lady, your son requires me to observe Erik more carefully now that his work comes to a close.'

'The matter involves Erik as much as it involves her, so don't worry about what my son has commanded.' To see him fidget uncomfortably before me caused my mouth to salivate. For a split second I wished to feel his tongue on my body. Torture always filled me with powerful sexual heat.

Instead, I turned struck out at him. 'Do you watch him now as carefully as you watched him while he poisoned your son in your own home, Nadir?'

'Reza didn't feel … I mean … my son died peacefully because of his illness,' he finally managed. 'Don't let unfounded palace gossip sully Your Majesty with falsehoods.'

At last, a game in which I could really sink my talons!

'Don't let yourself be swayed by the false friendship of the man who murdered your son at dusk,' I countered. Details were power. 'Forget not that I have informants farther than the farthest corners of my son's kingdom. My reach goes well beyond your ability to weave simple lies.'

His fists balled and clenched at his sides, but he said nothing — only cast his eyes down and waited patiently for any further berating I might bestow. The game was over more quickly than it had began. Disappointment flooded my wicked heart. I dismissed him with a broad flick of my wrist.

'Remember where your loyalties lie, dear _daroga_,' I warned him coolly, 'for you don't want to be on the receiving side of my wrath.'

The sound of the door clicking behind him stood as his answer. A man with no wife, no son, and no hope could be a dangerous man indeed. Perhaps I had played the wrong hand at last. Only time would reveal any misjudgements. And those would be easily rectified. They always were … with death and the iron smell of blood.

My appetite for destruction had been whetted.

Dressing in something more befitting to the mother of the Persian Shah, I left my chambers and followed the garden paths to my son's throne room. For the time being, it seemed empty. I studied the jewels, due to a sudden trick of the light, in the Peacock Throne. One of them didn't catch the light the way the others did. Much to my chagrin, I discovered one of the larger stones was loose in its casing. The moment I pressed my fingers against its smooth face it fell out.

What had passed as a gem smashed against the floor and broke into several sharp pieces … of glass. Horrified at the theft, I searched the throne over and over until I discovered three more pieces of glass masquerading as precious stones. Outrage filled me and I was reduced to grinding my teeth. Erik would pay for this! He would pay for denying me my amusement and stealing for his own!

A flurry of movement in the main hallway forced me to appear calm as my son and several of his advisors rushed into the room. They began to fall over themselves trying to outdo the title bequeathed to me by the man before him. I waved them away impatiently.

'_Mâhter_,' he took my hands and kissed me quickly on the cheek, 'with what do I owe your dazzling presence here? I was just discussing the feast to christen the Garden of Echoes later this month. Any sumptuous ideas to inspire our guests?'

I let him indulge in his childish fascination with a pile of stone, but only until I had calmed myself. 'I believe we have a thief in our midst. And … I believe that thief is our very own Master Magician.'

He stood with his mouth agape. I watched as the colour rose to his face and he tried several times to speak without shouting out obscenities.

'Tell me you haven't suspected it all along. Nothing ever went missing before he came to us. First it was the Glory of the World's collar, and now I've discovered several expensive jewels have been replaced in your very own throne with glass.'

'Glass? Are you sure?'

'Yes, darling, glass,' I opened my hand to show him the proof.

He still didn't move. It seemed as though he was torn between blaming me that his favourite toy was irreversibly broken and disbelieving me all together.

'You know I speak the truth. That man has never given you any gesture of respect for your position. He never acknowledges any of your proper titles, such as Shah of the Universe,' I cooed and coddled. 'And now, he spits in your most generous face with his treachery. Erik's lack of fealty is found in his insolent manner. It must end … and soon.'

He nodded slowly. I knew he wasn't ready to give Erik up yet. I needed to be understanding and firm. The boy I had raised to conquer kingdoms looked as though he were on the verge of crying. Such weakness should have been bred out of him generations ago. It came from his father's side surely, but seeing as I'd killed his father years ago I'd never get the chance to strike him down for this defect in character as well.

'What do you propose we do now?' he whinged. 'Do we torture him and keep his genius alive? Tell me what to do, _Mâhter_, for I trust your judgement in this matter.'

Rashly, I advised, 'Have his eyes put out at once. He should be punished for delighting in taking whatever he sees and thinks beautiful. Taking things that do not belong to him for sport; I'm sure that's just the beginning of his crimes against you.'

'If I have his eyes burned from his skull,' he was thinking aloud, 'then Erik won't be able to tell others what he's seen. He won't be able to design another ruler's palace.'

The boy in him would never die. He had commissioned a beautiful toy on a grand scale, and now the thought that someone else might have one threatened him more than the fact that he was being robbed. It almost sickened me. Sickened yes, but also made me think.

'Darling,' I stroked his back, 'I have a better plan.'

And I laid out for him exactly how I intended on torturing Erik, while hiding the fact that it would give me gratification like I had not known since the introduction of the Punjab lasso.

Erik, dark and dangerous Erik, why did you deny me the wonders of your flesh? Now you would suffer something Persia has never witnessed: a most exquisite death.


	6. Interlude III

**A/N: **I dedicate this to Penmora Zenith for continuing to read. Love to Leroux and Kay. Thank you to my new beta, Chatastic! This chapter will conclude the 'Interlude' section. Next chapter is all Erik; all the time. Please read & review!

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**Erik 1853: Interlude III**

I had grown bored. Restless. Dangerous.

My nights of watching Nājia turned into circular motion. She crept away to her pallet and would not appear again until sunrise. I believed someone had let slip that I watched her, but I knew that, if I let out enough rope, the bitch would lead me directly to her pups. There I would crush them all beneath my slipper-covered foot while she helplessly watched.

Night after night went by with nothing more noteworthy than the fact that Nājia talked in her sleep. Believing them to be her deepest desires, I listened intently for hours. Nothing more interesting than: 'The Good Book says …' and she would ramble some infidel's code of conduct, or 'It's the beauty of a violin. The violin. _His_ violin!' Other nights she would toss violently beneath her thin sheet and curse in languages I didn't understand. What was my son letting her read to him? Did he understand more than he let on?

Then there were the scraps of paper I found crumpled and abandoned throughout her quarters. Some had vague ink strokes and others had full words. My interest was peaked, and I tried for several hours to piece together a full sheet of paper from the tatters that remained. After hours of excruciating work, I was finally able to read:

_She is someone who can entertain;_

_It is well known that she dances well;_

_I am one of those who look on her;_

_It is indeed a great wonder — she dances nude._

Nājia favouring girls? If there was some other hidden meaning, I couldn't decipher her code. Then it struck me —she fancied me! No, no, that was too preposterous. What then? What did this silly poem mean? I'd have to sleep on it and see what dreams might reveal.

As for the daroga, he presented me with copious amounts of detailed notes as to Nājia's day-to-day activities. She awoke with the girls her age and rank, and then joined the rest of us to dine in the great room. He noted that she rarely ate the food placed before her or drank from her glass. On two occasions he had followed her into one of the gardens that bore the choicest produce. There she would spend hours reading from a tattered book and nibbling at this or that piece of ripened fruit. Later, she might choose the fabrics for her next outfit. It went on and on, and it bored me to the point of mortal peril. Not my own, of course. How he came by this information is not for me to guess; I learned by observation that he wasn't feeding me lies.

The Punjab lasso had become one of my rare delights in the obsidian hours of Mazanderan. I practised my technique against women in the harem, then moved on to the eunuchs who denied me the one thing I craved, but recently it was the royal cats who suffered my — what did Erik call it? — _ennui_.

It might have seemed a heartless amusement, for what does a cat have to defend itself? Ah, but it has its clever walk, its long sharp claws, and don't underestimate the importance of graceful manners. Over the course of a month, I had discovered that I could throw a cat from the third or fourth story balconies, and it would sustain little or no damage. I envied them the instinct of usually landing on their feet, and thus set out to destroy the weakest among my household — lasso in hand. What I had learned by enduring countless mistakes to come away the victor, the finest cats of my household would have bred out of them by their mistress — me.

To this task I had set my sights, when the man I had been waiting for came to call at my humble door. A dark and beguiling Indian man stood with a devious grin and an eye for a bargain. He dealt in both the curative and the deadly, but it was only his poisons I was after, and he was willing to trade one vice for another. He was the first apothecary I had ever beckoned to my inner chamber because inside his large satchel were tucked the means of my revenge on Nājia.

We spent the better part of two days haggling. He wanted another taste of my mouth in exchange for a vial of monkshood. I desired a bottle of hemlock for allowing him to trace the lines of my inner thighs. Ever the consummate businessman, he gave me a fair price on most of the powders I wanted. In the end, he pleased me and I poisoned him. Why buy the toxins when you can take them for free? Besides, I had to ensure that what he sold was more than pretty ground flowers labelled as exotic wares.

The other drugs were tested on women too old to be of use to my son, or too terrified, or too ugly, or too stupid. Some died painfully over days; others expired instantly. They all knew I was the one behind the murders, but like well-trained monkeys they never said a word against me. Nājia became less and less a fixture at my table.

I sent for her.

She did not come.

I sent for her with a gentle reminder in the form of a large and unswervingly loyal subject.

Not only did she refuse my request, but she sent the man away with gifts of gemstones. He brought them to me immediately. I recognised them as the ones I had given her to plant on Erik's person. What madness was she playing at? She knew full well, if not better than I, that she would be caught and most likely killed for this cheek. Did she defy me because she didn't believe my gaze could be turned in her direction? Did she think she was too valuable or irreplaceable?

Anger, my ever-faithful companion, and I stormed towards her modest room. The door was nearly torn from its hinges. Something coursed through my veins that turned my anger into a physical rage. And I loved it. I wanted her to lash out and fuel its growth. There she sat, her face blank as a slate, while I screamed, broke vases, crushed flowers, tore her clothing to shreds, and threatened to do her bodily harm.

'What can you possibly do to me,' she said without blinking, 'that I haven't already wanted to do to myself?'

'You serve me no longer, then?'

'I only ever did what you asked me to do' she spoke, while still motionless. Motionless but smug. I had turned her into this abomination, hadn't I? I always had to repent for my mistakes … always. 'And now you accuse me of being remiss in my duties to you.'

That same feeling of invincibility was now gone. I was an ageing woman sitting in a room with a, once lively, younger woman. Revenge would have to wait. Now was the time for soothing words laced in treachery.

I smoothed back her hair. 'I forgive you for your insolence, Nājia. Don't make me regret this. Clean up your mess and come to dine with the rest of your sisters.'

Well into the second course, she arrived at her place and sat down into the cushions. Carefully, I watched her pick at her food but eat nothing. I lifted my goblet and went to sit beside her.

'My daughter, let us start anew,' I said and then drank from the chalice, as a sign of trust, and offered her the remaining wine. She hesitated as the other girls watched, but then took it in both hands and drained the contents. Yes, she could still be moulded one last time. One last time to prove her worth and be rewarded with her death.

o . O . o

Little time was left for my plan to play out. Erik would be arrested in only seven days. Arrested in the morning and destroyed in the evening. A perfect day awaited me, but I had so many things to do between now and then.

Indulging in Nājia's every need seemed to bring her from her melancholic state to rest in the palm of my warm and loving hand. For I did love the child. Loved her for what she could have been, if she hadn't trusted a man like Erik over me.

Could there be another man like Erik in all the world? I would gladly like to meet another. Younger. More malleable. And certainly less sure of himself.

Before dinner, I had slipped a stoppered bottle of flour in my right sleeve. In the left, a separate vial of liquid death. Even as I stood before my gilded mirror I didn't know how the tale should end. Kill the hero? Kill the girl? Kill them both? Kill neither and let my son employ his own sense of justice. I had seemed so sure the last time he and I spoke on the subject of Erik.

_Put his eyes out_, I'd rashly spat. _Wait, my son, I have a far better plan_, I said and left him with those words; he expected me to fulfil that plan with glorious action.

Knowing that I wanted to watch Erik die by Nājia's wicked hand, I left the bottle of flour and left for supper with the poison.

The wine flowed freely. Soon, the entire harem was giggling and falling into each other's laps. Only the best wine for the best plan. I had the most jewel-encrusted chalice in the kingdom brought to me full of rich red wine. Its heady scent was intoxicating to inhale. No poison would ever be detected in the richness of its colour or aroma.

Almost on tiptoes I stepped carefully to where Nājia sat. Her thick eyelashes were heavy with alcohol-induced sleep. The shah's palace was the only place left where such hedonism was both accepted and encouraged. I drained the cup and sat beside her.

'I have a matter I wish you to handle,' I clapped for more wine.

Nājia closed her eyes and nodded. Her body seemed to relax and in open view I allowed for her to see me pour something from a glass tube into the goblet. I swirled the liquid around and around inside the plated gold cup until not a trace of acrid odour remained. She watched and I couldn't see if she grew more or less tense.

'This is not for you, little one,' I winked. 'I wish for you to bring this gift to Erik as a sign of the peace between us. Peace, little one, requires fealty. Fealty cannot be earned from the likes of him. It must be taken. Go, take this to him with my blessing. Do this and you shall be free. I swear it.'

She stared at me. 'Free?'

I twinged with pain that she didn't know what freedom was. Had I not gone to several lengths on her behalf to ensure her comfort?

'Free to go as you please, and do as you like. Free to leave this land or to stay. It matters not to me. And if you prove yourself to be my true daughter,' I paused to let my words sink past the effects of wine, 'I will enable you to travel as far away from me as you wish. You will ride in style, comfort, and under my protective blessing.'

'Freedom,' she repeated. Perhaps she wished to let the word sit on her tongue. Then she would swallow it and it would grow inside her like ivy.

Her hands trembled, but she took the heavy chalice and stood with her head held high. Tonight, I would discover how far she would go to choose her freedom or whether she would rather die for the touch of a monster.


	7. Part IV

**A/N: **I don't know if I've any readers left. It's my own fault for letting this story sit untouched on my hard-drive for so long. There's something about endings that I can't seem to grasp — like letting go of a friend you've known for ages. This isn't the end … yet. Thanks for reading!

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**Erik 1853: Part IV**

No matter how hard I worked or how much opium I used, I could not get her voice out of my head. It told me secrets I dared not give breath and wrapped around my thoughts with a soft intrusive touch. When I had finally convinced my mind to forget her — I received the first of a series of notes.

They all met the same fate and into the burning light of a candle they went completely unread. After that first week I had a veritable _flock_ of the shah's private pigeons in various states of repair in my rooms because of her notes. The shah would inevitably trace them all to my doors and then I would have to face his tiresome questioning.

My days were spent working and reworking the inner sanctuary of the Garden of Echoes. My nights were filled with nightmares and a taunting parade of Esmée's slips of paper. The two conspired to send me into the depths of madness. Something which I had staved off all these years out of necessity. The only place I found solstice was in my compositions. Music held me between insanity and peace. Music was my one true mistress.

Another day had passed and I retreated to a world of sound and smoke. The night passed slowly. The hallucinogenic worked lovingly. Nothing could ruin this moment. This perfect peace.

Then someone knocked softly on my door. I would ignore them. The lights burned low and if I made no sound maybe they would go away. Settling down into the cushions I inhaled deeply. Another knock. And another.

I rose, unsteadily, to my feet and made my way slowly to the door. When I opened it at last I found Esmée standing there without one of her veils. She held a large goblet in her hands. Her eyes were sleepy and there was the aroma of wine on her breath. She swayed a little. So did I.

'My mistress wishes you long health,' she said and tipped the contents of the jewelled cup into her mouth. She swallowed greedily and dropped the chalice at my feet. 'May your feet find the right path when you seek it.'

She went to bow low but found herself completely inebriated. Her head fell against my chest and I carefully gathered her up. Sleep had taken her when it denied me this very pleasure. I held her in my arms and watched her chest rise and fall with her deep breathing. No one would know if I had my way with her here. She wouldn't remember. But, I couldn't do it. I couldn't force myself — even on someone I despised.

So I carried her to my bed. Once there I laid her down and drew a thin sheet over her body. Longing to do more than touch her, I let my fingers stroke her luxurious hair. It felt soft to the touch and emanated the sweet smell of jasmine.

Knowing she wouldn't fight me, I pushed myself up from the bed. My mother, whatever else she had done, had raised me as a gentleman. I would never hurt her. Ever. No matter what I'd envisioned.

I left the room as quickly as I could without disturbing her. Stupidly, the door to my rooms stood wide open. Anyone could have entered. Quietly, I disciplined myself and retrieved the beautiful cup from the floor. The wine was gone but it had left a strange resin at the base. Tipping my smallest finger into the substance, I brought it to what remained of my nose. The mask impeded any action and I flung it from my face.

The oily substance smelled of wine. The wine had masked its true intent. Esmée could be heard in the other room breathing. Deep breaths. But the odd film on my finger worried me. Without second thoughts, I stuck out the very tip of my tongue and tasted the odd liquid. At once I detected the poison.

Not a moment could be wasted in making the antidote. Esmée's stomach would be well worn with the acids and tannins of the wine that came before. No doubt the poison had been meant for me. Why else would she bring a cup to my door after the events of the past fortnight and drink to my health on behalf of the khanum? Was she protecting me? Did she care for me in some small way that she was willing to die for me?

There wasn't time to answer moronic questions — though I knew that all the bitterness and despair between us had melted like ice in the hot Persian sun. I mixed ingredient after ingredient and waited for the potion to boil. Then it cooled. The time flew by and I grew more and more afraid that she'd be dead when I brought the vial to her. When I finally had prepared the drought, I returned to my room. Esmée's face lay delicately on the back of her hand. She didn't look like she was dying.

Distracted, I moved to touch her face. She moaned. Her face twisted into a mock grimace. I didn't hesitate for a second when I climbed up beside her and cradled her head in my arm. The vial's contents were poured down her throat and I waited.

And waited.

The sun had neared its halfway point in the sky for the third day before she finally opened her eyes. I had barely left her side. Her head again lay cradled in my arm and her body rested neatly against my own. She didn't flinch away.

'Am I dead?'

'You probably should be,' I admitted. She jumped at the sound of my voice. 'It would be wise not to drink anything the khanum's prepared for me in the future.'

It was hard to continue then. 'Why?'

'Why,' she repeated.

'Why did you drink that cup of wine?' I elaborated. 'Didn't you know it had been poisoned?'

She stayed quiet in my arms. Then she sighed. 'Yes, I knew it had been poisoned.' The admission was like a slap to the face. 'I didn't want her to win, but I didn't want you to die believing that I'd killed you. I suppose I owe you my life now for saving me last … how long has it been?'

'Three days.'

'Thank you for saving my wretched existence. We'll both be killed and none of it will have mattered.'

What could I say to that?

'But, you saved me from certain death first. It was honourable-'

'And stupid,' she cut in. She tilted her head back. I could see deep into her pupils and wondered what thoughts were trapped there. 'Yes, I saved you so you could be killed in a different way. Brava for me.'

One last afternoon for recovery. One last chance to tell her that I might trust her. I couldn't even do that. Instead, I watched as she left without glancing back. Her body was so thin now that she resembled a living skeleton. She had become me, in some sick twisted game orchestrated by the khanum.

I would have my revenge!

First, I needed to finish her son's palace. Perhaps I would fit a trap so that one day when the khanum suspected nothing, a stone would slide away and she would fall to her death. Erik's last murder in an Arab state, for I knew I'd have to escape this place of morbid games and find release in more civilised countries.

o . O . o

After a particularly brutal day working a trap door (one neither the khanum nor the shah had commissioned), I came back to my apartments on the brink of exhaustion. Morning would soon light her way into my eyes and I would long to hide beneath the sheets of my bed. I knew it to be so as I stood near a window and watched the sky.

Every part of me ached but my mind. It raced and raced and refused to allow me respite. I heard music, soft and sweet, playing in the back of my unconscious. It was a tune I wanted to work on because releasing it into my conscious mind would allow me to sleep at last. Reaching for the violin, I stood straight and tall, feet shoulder's width apart, and brought the bow across the strings.

An unnatural sound issued from the vibrations. Something was wrong. Plucking the strings, I noticed the same almost muted quality to the sound. This violin had been tampered with and when I found out who did it, I would quickly kill them. I was in no mood for petty jokes.

But when I brought the instrument from my chin, I heard something slide along the wood. Ah, no one had broken it. Relieved, I flipped the violin upside down and gently shook it in both hands. Folded sheets of paper fell to the floor with an enticing susurrus of sound.

Esmée.

She had roused my curiosity at last. Or was her persistence just another trait I admired in a girl I both loved and hated?

Thoughts with the same strong sentiments flitted inside my skull. They dared me to pick up the pieces of paper and see what the girl wanted. I would not be tempted by the idle whims of a palace slave. She had no power over me. I only wished to touch what she had so carefully demanded that I find.

She had enough power to make me bend down and gather the scraps into my hand. … I wouldn't read them. I'd put them in the fire of a candle and have done with it. Like a sign from some awesome power I never believed in, none of my candles burned. I went looking for matches and came back with only the two notes in my hand. The world was playing me for a fool and I complied.

I unrolled each piece of parchment and attempted to fold and twist them so they lay flat. The writing was unmistakably in Esmée's hand. How was she entering my rooms during the day while I was gone? The last time she graced my presence she was two steps from dying.

Besides, there were certain traps and signs I used every morning and every night I'd come home to find them still in place. She couldn't be more intelligent than I was and I'd never shown her the secret springs and latches to disengage them. The thought pushed me forward to read what had been meant for me. Finally, something meant for me. Was it good or not? On the first was written:

_Often talked of; never seen._

_Ever coming; never been._

_Daily looked for; never here._

_Swift approaching; coming near._

_Thousands for its visit wait; _

_but alas for their fate._

_Tho' they expect me to appear;_

_They will never find me here._

More riddles. And of all nights, I find them when I've worked my body to the point of breaking. Thankfully, the second was far more simple:

_Some try to hide, some try to cheat, _

_But time will show, we always will meet. _

_Try as you might, to guess my name. _

_I promise you'll know, when you I do claim._

I knew the answer to this one before I finished the second line. _Death_. Did that mean she wished to take my life in exchange for the one she'd given me? It didn't make sense. It felt like betrayal and some small part of me knew that I deserved it. It was my heart that betrayed me.

I tore each paper into a thousand fine shreds. Meticulously, I placed them into a water glass and watched as the liquid turned the fibres into a kind of papier-mâché. At last, everything in my head was quiet. Ready for the release only sleep can bring, I retired beneath my sheets and waited for my dreams to carry me where they would.

Dreams have a funny way of working things out. I felt that when I finally left Tehran I would make a study of dreams. My dreams. Others dreams. I had already grown accustomed to being the source of children's nightmares. Why not study them further.

I didn't have a chance to follow this new idea when someone sharply knocked on my door. Sleep would have to wait. Again. I had already pushed myself through two days of unending modifications at the shah's request. If building this blasted palace didn't kill me, then I might kill him.

The knocking grew more insistent. They could wait a moment longer while I wrapped my nakedness with a silken robe.

When I finally shuffled over to the door I was surprised, and relieved, to see Nadir standing in the doorway. His hand was still posed near the door for another burst of tap tap tappings.

'Nadir,' I said, almost smiling, 'to what do I owe this early morning visit?'

He was nervous. Rarely had I seen him so shaken, but then I noticed the large eunuch standing behind him with a thick coil of rope hanging from his shoulder. _Tomorrow. _The first riddle had meant tomorrow. The second: _death. _My death. Esmée had tried to warn me and I had been too proud, too stupid to acknowledge what she had desperately tried to say. Only then did I wish I'd never put any of her messages to the candle's test. They'd failed. I failed. I'd be dead before midday.

'You're under arrest, Erik.'

Nadir didn't need to say anything at all. The look that reflected from his eyes was sign enough. I could still plan my escape. Death would not hold me here.

'Allow me to dress, _daroga_,' I spoke casually. 'You've just found me about to bathe.'

He entered but with a slight gesture commanded that the other man stay outside. 'Erik, I've come to take you to the shah. He's going to try you for treason and put out your eyes. Then the lady is going to … you'll never survive what she has planned for you.'

I knew this day had been coming. Knew and ignored everyone who had tried to help me. A wild animal is more dangerous when it is cornered than when it is roaming free on the open fields. Nadir was aware of this as he kept his distance; I could feel his eyes on me while I paced.

Suddenly, a plan came to mind. I pressed the spring on the wall of my inner room and collected the jewels — some stolen and some earned — and cash that were hidden there. Everything was tucked neatly into a casket and placed in Nadir's hands. When I went to follow him he looked at me with such pity it broke my heart to see him.

'I have to bind your wrists, Erik,' he said it all quickly, staring at the floor. 'They'll never allow me to take you into the palace while you're able to use a weapon. Please, allow me to do this and I will set you free.'

I heard little after he stated he wanted to tie me up like an animal. The anger blinded me against everything the man had done for me in the past. There were still options. Regretfully, Nadir might become a casualty in my attempt at escape.

'I won't tie them tightly,' he whispered. 'I promise. Erik?'

Some of the rage left me then. Nadir was a good man. He only did what he was told and now it would cost him his life. If he bound my wrists too constricting, I would kill him. If he allowed me to escape, they would kill him. It was more than pity that quelled the blackness I had conjured against him.

There in his eyes I saw this dilemma. He looked away from me, but I answered sharply, 'Bind me. Do what you must. I owe you nothing. You saved my life before and I saved you from seeing your son suffer. Now you will take what's yours. This is the way of things.'

Holding out my arms, I watched as he pulled a length of cord to wrap around them. He flinched when he touched the white scars that adorned my wrists. 'A gift from my mother,' I spat. The fire returning in my breast.

'I'm sorry.' He didn't need to say it and that's what I had grown to love about him. Then he shouted into the hall, 'I will lead the prisoner back to the palace. Please ride ahead and notify them that we are coming.'

The dull beat of large feet echoed down the marble floors. Nadir refused to look back at me and I refused to say anything more. There was a dagger strapped to my leg and the lasso inside my cloak. I didn't want to hurt him, but I'd do just enough damage to be believable while still allowing for my escape.

He led me down one corridor and along another. Mostly I kept a firm watch on my feet. I knew these halls by heart and didn't need to watch where we were going. The smell of jasmine and sandalwood floated on the air. I knew that combination of scents. I sensed Esmée before I saw her.

Hidden behind a large obsidian column she waited for us to pass. The light patter of her feet followed but I dared not look behind me. She would have a plan — an escape route — or some other way to try and save me.

I didn't need to be saved. I could do it on my own.

Every time I tried to think of a plan it was washed from my mind like so much sand. I deserved to die. In the eyes of my boyhood faith, I was a condemned man.

The decision was made and no one would sway me from it. I followed Nadir out into the garish light of day and steeled myself to accept whatever was to be my fate.


	8. Part V

**A/N: **Hugs and kisses to all the authors who have inspired me to come back and finish this story. There's nothing worse for a reader than a WIP, especially the ones where the author doesn't update for several months (sorry!). This will be the second to last chapter. Please read & review.

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**Erik 1853: Part V**

**N**adir led me easily down the brightening hall. Like a sheep to the slaughter, I followed without protest. Inside my skull raged a battle of wills. The part of me that had come to love Nadir refused to kill him. Refused to hurt him again; I'd done it once when I sang Reza into his final sleep. The other part of me, the part that was growing every year, crept into my logic and showed me how simple it would be. Simple, painless, and advantageous for him. I had almost fallen into my own spell when Esmée spoke.

'So my riddles fell before blind eyes.' I didn't look at her. It was enough that she had come to mock me and my pride. 'Erik, you do realise that you're about to be tortured to death, don't you?'

Still I said nothing — refusing to acknowledge her presence — and continued to walk ten paces behind Nadir. He, too, acted as though he couldn't hear a word she said, that or he was deep in thought.

Esmée brushed past me with the grace of a dancer. On the balls of her feet she moved towards Nadir. In her right hand I saw the glint of a blade. The not so distant past reminded me that she'd threatened me with the very same knife. This red-haired daemon would either damn me to hell or be my salvation. I sucked in my breath and watched, unable to move, as she grabbed Nadir roughly and placed the sharp edge against his throat.

'I could kill you with one swift movement, _daroga_,' she said against his cheek. Nadir could easily have escaped her hold on him but he leaned into her — unsure and broken — and allowed her to press the knife against his flesh. 'I won't take your life if you let him go.'

They stood facing me. More than ever I felt like I had been put behind the constricting bars of a cage. Their mixed pity and revere came at me like long sticks to poke and prod at my suddenly naked body. A split second passed before Nadir answered her.

Calmly, he said, 'It is not my wish to see him die, Nājia.'

She flinched at the sound of her other name. The knife slipped a little against Nadir's sweaty skin and my stomach soared in response as a trickle of blood ran down his neck. The last two people in all of Persia that wished a monster to be set free would destroy each other if I didn't say something. Yet for the first time in my life, my tongue felt thick and unmoveable in my mouth. I had nothing to say at last.

'My name is Esmée. I am no longer a slave of this house and no one will ever call me by that name without suffering death by my hand.'

The knife moved away from his jugular and her arms dropped to her sides. I saw defeat in her eyes. No matter where she lived or what she aspired to be, she would remain nothing more than that of a little girl left in the hands of a wicked step-mother from ancient faery tales. She was nothing to me and I reminded myself that I could not — would not! — save her. Sadly, she remained as someone that would slow me down in my escape from an inevitable death and not the temptress she appeared, but still I pitied her and what she could have become in a more civilised world.

Nadir stepped away from her enough to turn and face her, 'Forgive my faux pas Esmée. I know nothing of your life before the harem. It is my job to investigate the truth, but you, my dear, were always elusive — wrapped in lies and half-truths.'

'A matter of survival, I think.' I watched her clutch the knife in her hand and knew she was uncertain in how to proceed. I gathered up my resolve and stepped towards them.

'And so my rescue begins with the spilling of innocent blood,' I said almost cheerfully. 'It would be far more advantageous if we were to continue moving our little party in the direction of freedom, I believe. Nadir, you have a plan, I'm sure of it.'

He nodded, eyeing Esmée with suspicion. I admit that I would hold my own judgements of her until after I found myself safely tucked outside of the shah's reach.

'This way,' he said indicating a path through the garden. 'I have two horses waiting for us.'

'Only two?' she asked quietly, looking at both of us in turn. 'So I am to be left to my own escape as I always feared.'

Nadir stared at the decorative stones that paved the ground. He shuffled his feet and managed an answer, 'It would not be wise to allow each of you a horse. It is even more foolish to burden one animal with both of you. Erik's only hope lies in the speed of his horse's hooves and the absence of guards on the roads.'

'You condemn me to death then,' Esmée challenged. 'And my only recourse will be to run straight to the khanum and divulge your assistance in his escape with the hopes that I will be spared for a time. A time when I will live in abject fear.'

There followed an uncomfortable silence. Nadir would be the prime suspect _without_ Esmée's damning testimony. He had already put himself at great risk to plan such an escape devoid of the meddling of this woman. It suddenly dawned on me that it would be far more humane to strangle Esmée now and leave her body in the garden she had loved so much. It would be a courtesy, really, and the one gift I could easily give her was a swift release from a life of slavery and abuse.

I reached into my cloak for the catgut lasso. The angle had to be better so she wouldn't suffer too much at my hand. No matter what they shouted at me when I had killed others, I didn't want to be insensitive to one more death. After it was done, I would compose her requiem and sing it across the Caspian sea. The body of water that so reminded me of her eyes.

'There are other ways of escape,' Nadir spoke and in doing so he stayed my hand. 'I know of another way that could be arranged today if you were to agree to allow Erik to take the horse this very morning.'

It was now Esmée's turn to stare at Nadir with grave suspicion. 'You owe me no fealty. Should I agree to this … arrangement, you could easily allow Erik to escape and then as easily have me arrested.'

'You forget that _if_ I were to arrest you that you would still be able to confess everything you knew to the shah.' Nadir reminded me of how his mind worked quickly and honestly. He would show her the truth in his plan and she would have no choice but to comply.

She frowned. I silently willed her to accept his offer as the creeping light of dawn was fast turning into the brilliant light of day. The option of the lasso remained ever at the tips of my fingers.

Esmée held out her hand. 'I agree to these terms. Before you go, I wish to speak to Erik. Go and ready your steeds.'

Nadir didn't say anything more. He took her hand and allowed her to shake it firmly, as was our western tradition. We both watched him walk swiftly away from us and I hoped that he would have the further courage to wait for me. Whatever she said could not detain me much longer. This thought brought my gaze down onto her face.

At last, I held her in my sight and took in all the small changes I had earlier ignored. She had cut her hair and wore the cap of a young Persian lad. No longer was her body outfitted in lace and silk and gold but the tattered remnants of a street urchin. She had darkened the luminous sheen of her skin with a substance that muddied it's translucence. Only my memory of her reminded me of her former beauty.

She watched me as I tried to accept every detail of her new identity. 'They will know you by your eyes,' I told her. It was true. Though her face had been smudged it only managed to make her eyes stand out more brilliantly against the dullness.

'All the more reason for me to make my escape at once,' she countered. 'Erik, I delay this moment because I am frightened of your answer.'

Fear was something I had created in others often enough. 'It's understandable. Though I think it would be wise for you to swallow your emotions and give me whatever information you have so that we can both be on our separate ways.'

'There's a road that leads into Odessa,' she said not pausing to breathe or waiting for my reaction, 'and I will be waiting on this road to tell you something that I've long wanted to tell you but could not say aloud even to myself.'

_Christ_, I thought, _is this the part in my tragedy where she admits her undying love for me?_ It was obtuse of me, I admit, but that is the first thought that came to mind when she spoke to me from her heart.

'There are many roads that lead to Odessa,' I answered with no hint of humour in my voice. 'And many of these roads hide thieves and spies who would bend to the whims of a woman such as yourself.'

'You have such a brilliant mind that you've convinced yourself you know everything about the human condition!' she shouted. I envied her that she allowed herself such passion at a time when her very life was in peril. 'You know nothing about the heart, Erik. Nothing.'

Esmée didn't wait for my response. She moved past me and into the darkness that the tall fruit trees afforded. Something demanded that I watch her until I could no longer make out her thin form. A call from Nadir reminded me of my own tragedy play and I walked with purpose towards the denouement.

'My angels swiftly escort you into a more deserving paradise, mademoiselle,' I whispered towards the ghost of her footsteps.

o . O . o

Good-byes have never been something that I am accustomed to accepting or giving. Nadir and I said our last words to each other and he took with him my cloak, my mask, and my life's debt. I took with me his friendship and my own tears.

The old daroga had wrung such depths of emotion from me that I had no thoughts to hide it from him. He deserved to see my gratitude. Our friendship had grown and strengthened and been broken on the edge of a shah's blade.

Not once did I look back to see if he followed the gallop of my mount. Not once did I think he would be safe from the shah's wrath with the flimsy story he gave them. A body had been placed near a road that led along the edges of the Caspian Sea. Of course I had no intention of travelling that way. I would take a more dangerous route. One that brought me to the very edges of the palace in Tehran. It was the last test of my fearlessness.

Night after night I sat, caught between being fully awake and fast asleep, near my horse. I trusted he would alert me to anyone's approach, and woe to those who crossed my path in the Persian kingdom. There may have been a few undeserving deaths as the miles put distance between myself and the spoiled shah. In truth, there were probably far more deserving deaths as I wound my way into sunset after sunset.

On the whole, I relied on my knowledge of plants and herbs to sustain me through those long days. It was not until I neared the city of Odessa that I began to venture into inhabited villages. The stares followed but I had enough money to quickly close the most astonished mouth. Dreams of flowing red hair and long graceful limbs filled my fitful nights. I had decided, between some tiny row of houses or another, that I had to discover if Esmée had made it out alive. My curiosity demanded it. A woman travelling on her own would have been an easy target — no matter how short she cut her hair or how tightly she bound her breasts. It intrigued me to discover her whereabouts though I would not invite her to continue her journey at my side.

The distance between myself and the shah was not so great that I tried to fill the endless hours of my boredom with magic and music filled shows for the public's amusement and horror. I didn't need the money either. The great and generous nature of the khanum and her son had seen to that … the stolen jewels made my horde all the more sweet.

Instead, I wandered the streets, keeping my head down beneath the weight of a thick turban, and took in the city. The cheaper sections of Odessa drew me like a vulture to a rotting carcass. It was here that I took in the spice that made the city throb with life. Small boys learned how to pick pockets. Old men sat and smoked pipes and talked together in a melodic hum. Married women hung wash in flowerless gardens behind stone houses. Everywhere the struggle to keep their progeny feed and away from the more dangerous habits. Habits like the hashish clubs that called me with their darkened rooms and promises of sweet bliss.

And when I had received what I longed for from such a place I would hide away and forget that I had ever known hunger or pain or sin. Most importantly, though, I would forget I had ever known a woman named Esmée who wanted to rescue me like some modern day Joan of Arc. I didn't need to be rescued.

I needed to discover inner peace without my memories of tragic beauty clouding my imagination.


	9. Part VI

**Erik 1853: Part VI**

Odessa had become a port to be reckoned with in the years that the Ottomans and Russians let it flourish before sweeping down to claim the city for their own and destroying everything instead. In the good years, there were Jewish, French, Italian, and Russian sections of the city. Each had its own lures, but none melded peacefully into the next. It would be easy to disappear in a city such as this — to be forgotten.

After choosing Odessa, I made my way into its heart disguised as a wealthy Turk. Languages came to me as naturally as music, for there was a kind of melody in each language that allowed anyone to learn them if they only listened. The ease with which I slipped into my new life scared and delighted me. I found lodgings and blessed solitude in an affluent section. The darker parts of town instantly preyed upon my weakness with their clandestine hashish parlours.

It was in one such obscure section of Odessa that Esmée found me; rumpled and oblivious in a sordid room near the back of a well-frequented parlour. She whispered into my ear, 'The Grand Magician is defeated at last by an unassuming plant.' Her French was rough and tender on my ears. Then she helped me to stand, faltering a little under my uncooperative limbs.

I mocked her tone. 'The Grand Magician wishes to be left alone.'

'_To die, to sleep, perchance to dream_,' she quoted Shakespeare without missing a beat.

'Dreams are far more enticing than nightmares, my dear,' I allowed her to lead me out into the cool November night. 'Where are you taking me?'

She said nothing and simply walked me past closed shops, sleeping guards, and quiet rooms. The feel of her sharp shoulder against my ribs pained me, as it told me she had not fared any better on her own than under the strong hand of the khanum. I noticed little else but her steady hand and the sound of our footsteps echoing off the smooth walls of structure after structure.

'Again,' I started, coughing a little from the smoke that lingered in my lungs, 'where are you taking me?'

'Erik, this is for your own good,' she spoke and I detected the slightest bit of nervousness in her answer.

'Back to the shah?' There was no fear in my voice even though I wanted to be back in Persia nearly as much as I wanted to be tortured to death in one of the devices I had designed. Though as the architect of such an atrocity, I did stand a better chance of escape than some other unassuming waif.

'No. Even your return to Persia by my hand would not keep me from a similar death.' She laughed with the force of her answer. 'I found the daroga, your Nadir Khan, before I made my last escape. He told me of his concern for your well-being and made mention of a promise he had asked you to make before you left. Have you kept your promise, Erik?'

That damn promise.

I had kept my word as closely as I was able to under the circumstances of my existence. Those men that died on my flight from Tehran, at the snap of the Punjab lasso, were not innocents. They were threats. I nodded, wearily, 'Yes, I've kept it.'

'I owe Monsieur Khan a substantial amount of money,' she said, smiling a little, 'if you're telling the truth.'

A man held open a door for us. 'Take him downstairs and to the left.'

'Thank you, Pierre.' She continued to steer me into the cellar of a rather odd structure. It had been built away from most of the other buildings in the square. I didn't have to inspect it long before I discovered that it was, or more likely had been, an asylum. The walls were white-washed and the floors scrubbed clean. In every corridor we passed, I detected the strong smell of ammonia. So strong that it cleared my nostrils and replaced the soothing scent of hash with a putrid stench.

I ambled along beside her, for some reason I trusted where she led me, though I had no idea what that meant. Finally we rounded a corner and she took me through a thick metal door. It, too, had been painted white. Large chips, long since scrapped off, showed how the heavy door had been closed and bolted over the years. Esmée pulled me inside and pushed me to lay down upon the institutional mattress, which smelled of vomit and urine. By that time, I was too far intoxicated to make any protest.

Esmée touched my face where the mask ended and my hairline began. 'No,' she spoke quietly, 'no fever.'

The last thing I heard before oblivion took over was, 'Forgive me, Erik. It _is_ for your own good.'

o . O . o

When I woke I found my arms and legs had been securely bound. Yes, this was an asylum prepared for the likes of something like me. Such treatment I could not allow. Not now. Not ever! Instinctively, I strained and squirmed in vain to be released from the bindings that held me. My wrists, though thin and nimble, were rubbed raw while I continued to try and free myself from the leather fetters. She had done her job well: waiting until I was deliriously self-medicated before bringing me here. Sober, a prison could never have held me.

No sunlight or moonlight spilled across the concrete floor, for there were no windows, save for the small slit in the door. It mocked me, while I struggled to detect some clue as to what time of day — or rather, what day at all — I awoke to find myself.

The flicker of torches in the hallway gave way to a shadow looming in front of the door. I bit my lip. I would not call them for help. No reason for begging. The slide of the lock, the push of the door; Esmée entered the room carrying a tray. She walked towards me with a firm resolve set upon her beautiful face, while all I could do was turn my head away and stare at the cracks in the wall. They were illuminated perfectly because she had left the door open. Did she trust her captive was so obviously beaten?

The lines that ran the length of the room, at first glance, were without any discernable pattern. She laid the tray on the ground and I began to see beauty in the way the dark cracks formed something of a spider's web across the wall.

'Did you sleep, Erik?' Her voice sent shivers down my arms and legs. It had imprinted itself on my brain as a testament to how close I let her know me. Too close. Too close.

Nothing scathing or brave came to my lips, such lips as I have, and so I said nothing and continued to stare. A mathematical equation started to form within the delineation that ran from right to left. Perhaps the universe spread itself out like this fragmented layer of paint. Chaotic at first, then breaking away to reason and splendour.

'Very well, if you will not answer me I shall simply engage in a one-sided conversation.' The sounds of a heavy object being dragged across the floor followed. 'I've brought you broth and bread and water.'

Reflexively, I said, 'A fitting last supper, one should imagine.'

Esmée sighed. Tenderly, reverently, she propped my head and shoulders up on several more pungent pillows. Plucking the bowl from the ground, she held it near my lips. The smell reminded me of Madeleine — my unforgiving mother — and a home I had not cared to remember for many years. My eyes closed against the memory and I shut my mouth tightly, trying not to choke on the emotions it stirred up.

'It's not poisoned,' Esmée said. I moved not a modicum. She brought the bowl to her own mouth and sipped the steaming brew. 'See, there's nothing wrong with it.'

When the bowl was brought to my mouth again, I remained unwavering. A little of the liquid splashed against my chin. It was warm against my cold skin and caused me to flinch. Esmée wiped it away with a handkerchief.

'Perhaps you are still enjoying the effects of your descent into opiate-inspired bliss.' She gulped down the rest of the contents and began to rip apart the bread, slowly chewing it and then swallowing.

A controlled rage filled my empty stomach. It didn't matter how long she kept me here, once free, I would destroy her. All the details illuminated behind my mind's eye. The spell of murder and blood was broken when she touched my hand.

'I know you don't understand,' she began, tracing the raw marks on my wrist. 'And you may never understand. I want you to know that I accept any consequence of my actions.'

She paused, the torchlight scintillating across her face. 'The genius that you possess needs protection from your wild fancy. It is in my power, at present, to be such a guardian. Sometimes such a task requires sacrifice and I am willing to pay that price if it means your redemption.'

Her eyes returned to my mask. They searched for an answer, or some small sign I had heard — accepted? — everything she had said. I remained quiescent. Esmée sighed again, removing her hand from my flesh.

The chair was returned to its place against the far wall and she gathered the tray with its half-consumed meal into her arms. Esmée shut and bolted the door behind her and I escaped the prison of my body for the wide-expanses of my increasingly lucid mind. The last comforts the pipe had given me were making their dilatory way from my bloodstream. Nightmares would follow: images dredged up from a lifetime of horror. What kind of sacrifice could possibly equal what I endured from the recesses of my damaged subconscious?

o . O . o

Minutes, hours, days — what did it matter! — passed by outside of my dark room devoid of any natural light. It occurred to me on several occasions that I could be quite happy without sunlight. It was rather comical to escape from the beautifully intense sun of Persia and be confined to a chill damp room where I might well die. Laughter escaped my throat before I had a chance to check it.

I felt as though I would go mad if left inside the cage I found myself in. That too made me chuckle. The most recent wave of pain wracked my body as my veins screamed out to be filled with the ethereal release of hash. Dry-mouth followed and then accursed sparks of light filled my vision. Perhaps she had broken me enough to beg. For that which made me forget, I would plead. I would offer her my soul for its promised release.

Esmée appeared, like some perverted version of the living nurse, Florence Nightingale. She cleaned me like a child. I felt certain there were sores beginning to form along my spine while I remained strapped to an uncomfortable bed. Never once did I look her in the eye while she performed these 'duties'. There was too much shame in the situation. Mostly, I was ashamed of being so dependent upon forgetting my past. Hadn't someone once told me I was above addiction? Was it Nadir?

The girl with the rubicund tresses changed my soiled clothes and dragged the chair so she could sit close beside me. She took her place on the seat, folding her willowy legs beneath her.

'Would you like me to read to you, Erik?' A ripple of pain went through my body. The spasms were uncontrollable and again I felt helpless in her presence. 'It may help with the symptoms of your withdrawal.'

Gritting my teeth, I gave no response; merely turned my head back to the cracks in the wall that suddenly became a simulacrum to my captor. Her eyes settled nicely above her cheekbones. A delicate jaw line disappeared into the long curve of her throat. If I could get my arm free, then my fingers would easily clasp, and break, that delicate neck.

'This story was a favourite of the shah,' she began, opening a musty tome on her knee. 'He thought the poetry painted a pretty picture of his garden. Never did he imagine the lines hid a love story older than those statues that decorated his walks.'

Without meaning to, I began to pay attention to the words as she read from the book. They were not in French but Persian. Omar Khayyam. It was always to him that she returned like a dove. No, she was not a dove! She was a daemon who fancied pretty words. Violent emotion filled my chest and as I opened my mouth to tell her exactly where she could place that old book of verse, she came to the part about the nightingale and the rose.

'… _the Nightingale cries to the Rose / That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine_,' she recited and the lines were given a fervid life. And much as I tried to ignore it, parts of me were beginning to understand what she was giving me. How she had saved me from a wasted life. I had plans and dreams and if it weren't for the mask, the world would sit comfortably in the palm of my hand.

Another lesson sat patiently behind this self-serving one: without the delusions created under the influence, I might be able to escape long enough to make something of a life for myself. Mask be damned!

I watched her silhouette close the book and listened while she got up to leave. 'Find your rose, no matter how you go about it, for therein lies your salvation.'

Then she slipped a needle into my arm and I remembered nothing of her departure. When I awoke, the leather cuffs had been removed, the door remained wide open, and the torches flared brightly in the corridor. Standing was difficult, my muscles tensed and burned, once upright I noticed a new change of clothes and a piece of parchment sitting on the chair.

A neat script I'd come to know as Esmée's flowed across the paper:

_Erik,_

_When you wake I shall be far away from this city and your wrath. I hope that you find it in yourself to forgive me, should our paths ever cross in future. I held you captive for three weeks. It was long enough, I think, for the chemicals to make their way from your brilliant mind. Even though I did, in the end, have to drug you again to ensure my escape. _

_However, now in your unsullied state you may find my actions had purpose and were altruistic. Nadir saw something worth saving in you, as did I. It went beyond what you conceal beneath your mask. Neither of us pities you. I could say that I don't fear you, but we both know I'd be lying._

_I must thank you for what you've given me. Until you changed everything I thought I knew — everything I _needed_ to know — about hate and love and fidelity, I was a prisoner of the khanum. I was blind. You opened my eyes to look beyond what I am given as truth. There is good in you, Erik, and I've seen it._

_In time you may find it easy to forgive me. Then again, perhaps not. _

_Khodâfez, dustæm_

I crushed the note in my hand and threw it into the fire, which cleansed me instantly of any ill-will I had towards the girl. I had become everyone else's Angel, but anyone who tried to be mine ended up broken or dead. I would never allow it to happen again. Ever.

The end.

* * *

**A/N: **It was always my intention to write something that could easily be slipped into the canon of Susan Kay's novel, _Phantom_. And while I know many people are against E/OW, I feel that this isn't really an E/OW. There's mutual respect and a little sexual attraction (it is Kay's Erik, after all) between the two, yet Erik and Esmée were never meant to go off into the sunset to live happily ever after. Instead, I felt it was a chance to explore how he was able to kick the hash habit and play in Persia. I do hope that anyone who has read this far has enjoyed this story — even if it wasn't quite what you'd expected. Please leave a comment (concrit is always welcome!) and thank you very very much for reading along for over a year! Ava 


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